nine2five 2,9 Dead Like Me
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: The Belgian has captured Chuck, and Sarah is willing to do anything to get him back. Good thing Frost is there to help her out.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **The time frame for this is really equivalent to the final scenes of Fear of Death, which, like so many of Chuck's international episodes, glossed over the fact that it takes a long time to get to places like Thailand. I don't have to worry about kidnapping Thai diplomats from their embassy, though, so it all balances out.

* * *

_"You have an antitoxin?"_

_"Rye kidnapped Chuck!" _

_"I'm not sure I'm…not an agent__."_

_"Come with me, if you want him to live."_

* * *

Four days ago…

Vivian Volkoff returned from her morning run with Artemis to find a light blinking on the phone. "Miss Volkoff," it said, when she pressed the button. "Sam Riley here. I have a report on that action item you gave me a few days ago. Please call me back."

_A what on the what?_ For once she was glad to be alone. Even the memory of that conversation brought blushes to her cheeks. She entered the number, wondering just what exactly she had stammered out that anyone, much less a lawyer for a man like her father, would consider an action item. "Mr. Riley?" The crop in her hand tapped a quick beat against the blotter. Did Chuck respond? Call back? Did he…want to see her?

"Miss Volkoff," he said, sounding pleased. "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly, but I'm afraid I have bad news. My agent Damian tried to get a message to this Mr. Charles, as you asked, but all attempts to contact him through Miss Walker were rejected."

Rejected? So she wasn't even going to be allowed to talk to him or…anything? Vivian striped the blotter with her crop. Who did Miss Walker think she was? "Is there anyone else there you can go through?" Did Chuck even know what this, this _flapper_ was doing behind his back?

"She has a few known associates we could try, but the problem is bigger than just Miss Walker. Your father has, for reasons of his own, quashed any attempts to contact Mr. Charles or any of his team."

"He what? No!" Snap! The crop broke on the back of a wooden chair.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

She eyed the broken remains. "I quite understand." No underling would ever try to gainsay her father.

He sounded relieved. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The broken crop fell into the trash. "Yes." She was not an underling. "Could you make the arrangements for me to get to Moscow, as soon as possible, please?"

* * *

Today…

General Beckman looked at her briefing team. "Where are Chuck and Sarah?"

"Unknown, General," said Casey. "Portable trackers have all been recovered. Chuck's internal chip isn't screaming, but it's not registering either."

Beckman visibly braced herself, and started recording. "Agent Miller, your report?"

Carina took the center position behind the meeting table in Castle, with Casey at her side. She finished hooking up her phone to the network, and put a bulging bag on the table. "I got to this party so late that even the waiters had gone home." Carina opened the bag, and removed Sarah's phone. "The emergency beacon went off when I was about fifteen minutes out. Casey was all gung-ho to mobilize but I convinced him to wait until I'd triaged the scene, and it was just as well. We needed a cleaner team, not back-up. And a lot of extra drivers."

"Manoosh and Sam really stepped up," put in Casey. Beckman made a note.

"They _did _look a little green," said Carina. She uploaded a series of photographs from her phone to a computer, and put them on the monitor. "Here's why. Our kidnapper, Jim Rye, and three backup singers a lot farther than twenty feet from fame." She put up another image, a graphic of the vineyard buildings and fields for the benefit of tourists, and zoomed in a bit. "First of all, apparently it wasn't a kidnapping. Rye left a note for Sarah in his car." She put up a sixth picture.

Casey mumbled to himself as he read it. "'Please act scared'?"

"It was all a test for Chuck?"

Carina shrugged. "Gotta give him points for realism. I found his body under a balcony, which is where I guess he and Chuck were. He'd been shot in the back, and he must have fallen. He looked kind of splatted. Anyway, if you go up there–" she marked the balcony with a light pen, "You can see the spot marked by the coordinates in the note." A circle, a good distance away. "That's where I found the other three." Mark, mark, and mark.

"It looks like they were surrounding something."

"They had knives out, too." She removed three wicked-looking knives from the bag and laid them on the table.

Casey grunted, uninterested in knives. "Assassins, probably. Pros."

"Agent Bartowski?"

Carina opened up a facial recognition app and dropped the three images into it. "I'd say yes, but that means there would have been a fifth person there, since they were shot from the trees." Mark. "I have the casings and they don't look like Sarah's." She reached into a pocket for the casings and scattered them on the table next to the knives.

"Not the right caliber for Agent Bartowski," said Casey. He picked up one of the casings. "Too sloppy, as well."

"Maybe," said the General. "Or maybe they had more important things on their minds. Until we know the sequence of events who can say? Was there any surveillance anywhere?"

"Not at the drop site, ma'am," said Casey, holding up a stick, "But the balcony was covered."

"Let's see it, Colonel."

Casey plugged in the stick and called up the stolen security footage, moving the window to the General's monitor.

The clock started that morning, a standard interval that would be recorded and then dumped if there was no reason to keep it. The Balcony was pretty quiet most of the day, with most of the action taking place down below. A few guests went up there, flickering as Casey moved the window along the slider to get the playback into the correct range.

Something moved, and he went back. A couple, using one of the decorative benches for a non-decorative purpose. Probably why they had cameras in the first place. "Ha," said Carina, "Told you."

"And I told you not to tell me." Casey moved the slider away from the contaminated area. "Okay, here we go."

* * *

Aldebert De Smet hated loose ends. The initial pick-up was the loosest end of all, the end he was most likely to trim if it seemed ready to snag and foul an operation. If an investment must be lost, best lose it early.

People thought him heartless, cruel, but truly he was not. One warning was all he gave, any more and people would cling to hope, and hope was far crueler than he, a knife that people cut themselves on again and again. Over time, lost time, lost investments, they had learned to trust his solid word over any hope.

He even cleaned up after himself, a final, often unappreciated, kindness.

First, to begin the next stages, now that the initial capture was complete. He made the call as his men trans-shipped the case containing Agent Charles from the muffled helicopter to the disguised jet. "Doctor Mueller, prepare your machines. We have our prize." Today, once again, his warning had been heeded, and he would reward that obedience. Once he got what he wanted, none of Agent Charles' team would ever see him again, ever suffer the knowledge of what had been done to him.

It was the least he could do.

* * *

Casey, Carina, and General Beckman watched as Rye walked out onto the balcony as if he owned it, while Chuck had the sense to at least check before revealing himself. He seemed to be a little annoyed by something, too, but the recording didn't have audio and they were facing the wrong way for lip reading.

Rye handed Chuck a pair of optics and pointed.

"That's the direction Sarah would have been in," said Carina helpfully.

Chuck suddenly tensed, and shouted.

"Looks like the assassins just came out," said Casey.

Rye could clearly be seen saying the word 'flash' several times, gesticulating wildly in Sarah's direction. His plan seemed to work, as Chuck got a very strange look on his face.

"Was that a flash?" asked the General. It didn't look like anything she'd seen him do before.

"Seemed like one," said Carina, who'd only seen a few herself.

"Not–dammit, they've got company!" Several men burst through the doorway, and Chuck and Rye immediately went on the offensive. Chuck fought well, but not Intersect-level well, and was soon literally pushed out of the fight. Rye fought on alone, continuing to exhort Chuck to flash as he did.

"What just happened?" asked Carina.

Casey pulled it back, and they watched it again. "I don't see anything."

"What's Chuck doing?" asked the General.

Casey pulled it back again, and they watched Chuck…not move. "He's gone limp."

"Best thing for him," said Casey. "Saving his energy for better things…look at his hands."

"What about his hands, this video is crap."

Rye finished off the last man, and turned to look down at Chuck. Chuck said something, and Rye looked very pleased with himself, even more so than usual. Until a man stepped onto the balcony unnoticed, behind him, and raised a gun. Until his chest blew outward in a spray of red.

"Whoa!"

"All it takes is one," muttered Casey. One bullet. One mistake.

The unknown man stepped forward and gave Rye a push, then pulled Chuck up all by himself. No one was surprised that after clinging to the railing for several minutes Chuck had no strength to resist, and given that demonstration of strength, resistance would have been futile anyway. His watch came off and a pair of cuffs went on.

"Needle!" said Carina.

Casey grunted.

Carina pointed a finger at him in warning. "Don't say it."

Casey's grunt trailed off into a disappointed whine.

Chuck collapsed, the old man collected his prize and his minions, and they left. A large shadow passed overhead a few moments later and then…there was Sarah. She dropped a bag on the floor and went straight to the place where her husband had dangled. She pulled out her phone, as another woman appeared on the balcony behind her.

"Frost?"

"She was the shooter?"

* * *

Somewhere over the Pacific…

Sarah sat in one of the comfortable chairs and declined a drink, as did her 'hostess'. Sarah's gun was a comforting weight, but that's about all it could be, given their altitude and speed. A guest, of sorts, but she could be made a prisoner easily enough, if Frost ever felt so minded. Their family tie seemed a slender thing right now. "Did you really order those men to kill Chuck?"

An interesting opening, thought Frost. Most players would be trying to diminish her position as best they could, given their obvious inequality of forces. What could Sarah be hoping for, guilt? Far too late for that. "Yes."

Sarah nodded, slightly. _Yet here they were, racing to the rescue._ A trap, or a masterful improvisation, the kind Chuck was so good at? Not even Frost would have planned all this. "Why?"

Frost didn't blink. "Alexei told me to."

Sarah didn't blink. No doubt he had and she had, but Frost was no lackey. She'd obey, give the order, but her reasons would always be her own. Volkoff would have to be a fool to think otherwise. "Would you have let them do it?"

Frost had seen that trap coming long since. "We'll never know now, will we?" she said, as if unsure. "Under other circumstances, I might have had to be considerably more lenient." She gave Sarah a measuring look. "Good help can be so…hard to find."

* * *

Sarah's face was to the camera as she took the phone call, but since she said nothing, that didn't help them. They saw Sarah turn toward Frost as she made her entrance, but the fear on Sarah's face had nothing to do with her mother-in-law.

Casey paused the playback.

"Agent Miller, check Sarah's phone's log," said Beckman. "Find out where that call came from."

Carina scrolled through the history. "According to this it came from Chuck's phone."

"Did you recover it?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Casey. "Most of it, anyway. Probably a high-altitude toss from the helicopter."

"No way to know who she was just speaking to."

"Not directly, ma'am, but I'd bet good money that that's the first thing Sarah said here, and both of them are facing our camera." He started the file, but while Sarah's question was clear, none of them could tell if Frost spoke a name or not to answer it. He paused the recording again.

"When we're done, upload the file, Colonel, and I'll get a lip-reading analysis done ASAP."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Let's continue with this nightmare." She'd hoped to have better news for Ellie when she got in to Castle, but that didn't look like it was going to happen.

Fortunately there wasn't much nightmare to continue with. Sarah tried to push past Frost, but Frost brought her up short with a few words.

"Uh-oh," said Carina.

"Did she just say what I think she said?"

"Only if what you think she said was 'can Volkoff get Chuck back?' No, Sarah!"

Video-Sarah wasn't listening as she stripped off her own watch, leaving it and her phone in the bag at Frost's direction.

"Did she just wink at us?" asked Carina. "If Sarah doesn't kill her I will."

"What's her game?" asked Casey.

"Aside from taking advantage of her son's wife in a moment of weakness?"

"Yes, Agent Miller, aside from that," said Beckman, "Agent Frost would have plans within plans, and turning Sarah would only be part of one of them."

"So what do we do?" asked Carina, as Casey uploaded the file.

"There's only one thing we can do at this point," said Beckman. "Colonel Casey, Agent Miller, I need you to execute Protocol Seven immediately."

Casey's head came up, an expression of confusion on his face. His General looked at him expectantly, then at Carina. He followed her gaze.

Carina Miller pulled out her gun and shot Casey twice in the chest at point blank range.

* * *

Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, the Belgian roused himself at the urging of a small clock. The drug he'd given Agent Charles would be wearing off soon. Time for the next part of Phase One. Dr. Mueller had given him a raft of drugs and a specific timetable for injection, all calculated to leave Agent Charles in an optimal state for his mechanisms. Giving injections was the only part of the acquisition process he'd bothered to master for himself, and he prepared the next needle with an experienced hand. De Smet opened the box, and scanned the readouts of the devices inside. All well below normal, as expected, but they would be rising soon, and Agent Charles would be rising with them, into a chemically-induced nightmare. From that nightmare, and all the others to follow, there would be only one escape, the one allowed by Aldebert De Smet. When Agent Charles used that exit, gave De Smet what he wanted, only then would the Belgian allow Agent Charles to die.

* * *

**A/N2 **Chuck's in for a rough time of it. De Smet's goals in canon were extremely vague, barely enough to allow the real story to putter along. In my version the goals are a bit more defined, and both Chuck and Sarah have a tougher row to hoe ahead of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **I originally started this on the canon model, with Chuck's nightmare first, but the timing of the events required it be moved to the end. Unlike canon, in this story Chuck has a tracker in his leg, that is partially obscured during the flight but will be quite obvious while he's in the chair. I checked the flight times to Moscow versus the time to SE Asia, so he wouldn't have been visible until much later.

* * *

"_Where are Chuck and Sarah?"_

"_Looks like the assassins just came out.__" _

"_Good help can be so…hard to find."_

_"__Execute Protocol Seven immediately__."_

* * *

Three days ago…

Vivian Volkoff awoke, staring at the ceiling. She'd stared at that ceiling most of her life, always the same bland, boring color. Eggshell. Ecru. Lots of words that a piratical language like English had appropriated from all over the globe, all meaning pretty much the same thing. Almost (but not quite) lacking any color at all. Next step from nothing.

Suddenly she hated that ceiling. Hated this bed, this room, this house.

Hated Artemis.

She sat up, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face in them. _This has to end._

The phone rang.

She reached for it blindly. Lord knew the thing hadn't changed its position in years. "Hello?"

"Miss Volkoff? Sam Riley here."

Her heart leaped. Her head came up. "Yes, Mr. Riley?"

"I made the arrangements to get you to Moscow, as you requested. I'm afraid the corporate jet is being held in America, so I had to charter you a flight, but you will be in Moscow tonight."

He was so nice. "You didn't have to go to all that trouble, Mr. Riley, a simple commercial flight would have sufficed."

"For the daughter of Alexei Volkoff? Not if I want to keep my hea…uh, my position!"

She laughed. "I'm not the Red Queen, your head and position are quite safe."

"Thank you, Miss Volkoff," said Riley, sounding relieved. "Flight time to Moscow is three and a half hours, so if you have a target time, let me know and I'll pass it along to the crew, so they can get the plane prepped."

She had her own preparations to make. "Maybe I could surprise my father and take him to dinner."

"Uh, surprising Alexei Volkoff is neither easy nor wise, miss," said Riley. "In any event, at the moment he's abroad, but I'm informed he'll be returning to Moscow tomorrow. We could certainly have you in Moscow in time for dinner, though."

Then she had a thought. "Are you in Moscow, Mr. Riley?"

* * *

Today…

John Casey awoke, flat on his back on something that may have been a mattress five thousand years ago, staring at a ceiling fixture. He went to shade his eyes, only to find his hands were fastened down snugly with much more modern leather straps. He raised his head to look down the length of him, so many straps!

A friendly, familiar face moved into his view. "Good morning, sleepy-head," said Ellie, brushing his hair back out of habit, even though it was nowhere near as long as her brother's.

"Ellie?" he said, only then noticing the plastic cup that was strapped around his mouth and nose. "What are you doing here? What is this?"

"It's called an ether mask," said Ellie, removing it. "A low-tech means of delivering anesthetics."

He'd seen them in the field. "You kept me drugged? How long was I out?"

"I was in LA before Carina ever shot you, John," said Ellie. "In fact I've been waiting for you to wake up. She hit you with two darts, mainly to guarantee she took you down before you broke her neck."

Right now John felt like the only way he could break an egg was by dropping it, which would be disturbingly easy to do. "I don't understand," he said. "I would never hurt Carina, just don't–"

"Tell her you said so, I know." Ellie didn't try to undo any of the straps. "Not when you're in your right mind, you wouldn't," she said, "But you haven't been in your right mind for over a week, none of you have."

"None of…us?" How many of him were there?

"You, Chuck, and Sarah," said Ellie. "Frost warned us about the effects of that gas you inhaled. It's one of the reasons we sent Manoosh here."

"That little twerp's been spying on us?" No wonder he'd been underfoot all damn day long.

"Observing and reporting," corrected Ellie. Even with fear toxin, it would have taken serious effort for Manoosh of all people to be perceived as a threat. Since that was the last thing any of them wanted, anything that might be taken as 'spying' was right out. "All of you had your own methods of coping, some more effective than others. For you it was aggression."

_Heh. _"This is supposed to surprise me?"

"I suppose not," she said, with a bit of sadness."Carina said you were quite the monster, back in the lab. She hit you with two darts then, too, but you didn't drop."

No, he didn't. His head had cleared, a little, and he recognized the woman who'd shot him, gun raised and ready to do it again. He would have gone after that gun, gone after her, if that gnome scientist hadn't come shrieking down the hall, reminding Casey who his enemies really were. Not that he'd call Carina a friend, really. But she knew what had to be done and she…did it.

"Why did you leave the team, John?"

He'd left his team. Abandoned his crew, and for what? He couldn't remember what for. He could remember the feel of the gun in his hand, the taste and burn of the liquor, but he couldn't remember that. The thought, the lack of a memory, chilled him. Not in his right mind? Not in _any_ mind. "I…I had to do some damage," he said at last. It was a safe thing to say, since he always wanted to do some damage. "So I guess I thought it would be best if I wasn't around the rest of you."

"Well, thank you for _that_, at least," said Ellie.

"And Bentley was an idiot."

"Good thing you were there, then." Ellie sighed. "But her mission masked the symptoms, John, gave you an illusion of control that would have killed you before too much longer."

"That suitcase nuke would've done the job real quick."

"True, but even without it you were still failing. The first thing I smelled coming into the base was that cigar, and the glass of wine you forgot about."

"I was relaxing!"

"John Casey relaxes by shooting things, and blowing stuff up."

_Got me there. _He smiled.

"You've been running on constant adrenaline and random, undirected bursts of hostility, all week long, and your body was running out. That poison would have kept driving you on until eventually a bullet would have jammed in your barrel at full auto."

He looked at her funny. "A military metaphor, Ellie? Really?"

"I stole it from Diane–the General. She's been getting more and more worried about all of you. She gets…colorful, when that happens." Ellie leaned in close, and asked quietly, "Is it bad? It sounded bad."

He nodded. "Messy. Usually fatal." He braced himself. "When?"

"Well, eventually, the kind of life you lead," said Ellie unhappily. "But not from the toxin. That ether mask was delivering the antidote while you slept. You should be over the worst of it now."

He flexed his hands, pulling. "So why am I still tied down?"

She started undoing the straps. "I wanted to see how long it would be before you'd start to fight."

* * *

A few minutes later, in the briefing room…

"How do you feel, Colonel?" asked the General first thing.

Casey aimed himself right and fell into a chair. Ellie sat next to him, just in case. "Like roadkill, General. But Doctor tells me I'll live."

"Good. While you were recovering, Agent Miller, with some help from Sarah's friend Hannah, has identified the other players in this game. Agent Miller?"

Three faces popped up on the monitor. "These men work for Alexei Volkoff," said Carina, "Primarily as assassins. Three guesses who their target was this time."

"So Frost killed them?"

"I'd like to say yes, but…"

"But?"

A not-very-clear still image of the old man on the balcony displaced the dead killers. "But the man who killed Agent Rye and kidnapped Chuck has been identified as Aldebert De Smet, aka, the Belgian," said Beckman. "A ruthless information merchant, he always kills his victims."

"General!" scolded Carina.

"What?" said Beckman crossly, until she noticed the tilt of Carina's head. "Oh. I'm sorry, Ellie. I forgot. Feel free to go back to your lab if this distresses you."

Ellie clenched her hands together under the table. "No, thank you, General."

Beckman nodded. "Let's continue then. Agent Miller?"

"Hannah's most likely scenario is that the assassins made a deal with De Smet," said Carina, not looking at Ellie. "Frost could have killed them to protect Chuck, or to punish their disobedience. Or both."

_Why shoot at one target when you can hit two? _"What would an information merchant want with Chuck?" asked Casey.

"The lip-reading analysis indicates that he knows Chuck is the Intersect."

Carina handed him a transcript of Sarah's short conversation with Frost.

"Aw, hell," he said after a quick read. "Guess we didn't get all those Ring goons after all."

"Apparently not. Sporadic returns from Chuck's implant indicate that he's being moved to Southeast Asia."

Jungles, warlords, and cheap mercs. The idea made him tired, but duty called. "When do we move out, General?"

"We don't, Colonel. You especially will not be fit for action for some time. Besides, this is a job for the diplomatic corps," said Beckman. "Sarah's rush to Volkoff has tied our hands."

"A delay of any kind will just prove Frost right," said Carina.

"Any sudden movement could play right into her hands and cause an international incident, the kind of environment where Volkoff thrives." Beckman shook her head. "Sarah's on her own. The most support we can offer her is to say nothing at all."

"What?" shouted Ellie and Carina at the same time.

"She's right," said Casey, his thinking more international in scope. "This isn't about the Intersect, this is about Chuck. Since he doesn't have either the skills or the data at this time, the threat level is minimal, and won't justify any action on anyone's part. Anyone we tell will see _Sarah_ as the threat, and respond accordingly."

Beckman nodded. "We can't even warn them, try to minimize the damage."

"Warn who?" asked Ellie.

"Asia."

* * *

Somewhere over Asia…

Sarah Lisa Bartowski awoke. The plane she was in had changed its sound, slowing at the end of its journey and the beginning of hers. One hand reached for her gun as the other threw off the light blanket she hadn't asked for. In the other seat, Frost sat looking at her as if she hadn't moved all night. Only the glass of juice was new.

"Thank you," said Sarah, a little late."Thanks for helping me."

"Who says I'm helping you?" asked Frost. "There's really only one safe way to deal with Alexei Volkoff."

"What's that?" asked the person going in to deal with Alexei Volkoff. A glass of juice appeared at her elbow.

"Carpet bombing."

That explained Pichushkin. Sarah sipped her breakfast. "Maybe after I'm done with him."

A brow went up. "After _you're_ done with _him_? Unlikely. After he's done with you? Even less likely. He'll enjoy you." Frost took a drink as well.

Lips bared in a non-smile. "No one but Chuck will ever _enjoy_ me." No one but Chuck ever had.

Frost toasted the determination. "That's exactly what I mean. Alexei delights in corruption."

"I've been down that path." She washed the taste of it out of her mouth.

"And Chuck pulled you off of it, I know." Frost finished her juice. "But now Chuck is gone, and you need Alexei to get him back, and believe me, Alexei knows that as well. There are no safe choices for you here, but I will give you a word of advice."

"Which is?" Sarah put her glass down, leaving the dregs where they belonged.

"Be very polite, and very, very careful."

* * *

Alexei Volkoff touched the brush to the canvas delicately. Interesting stuff, painting. Not just colors, but the direction of the strokes, the depth, the layering. He only hoped he could make the rest of the dog's face as captivating as his nose.

The doors to his sanctum couldn't fly, they were far too heavy for that, but they could _crash_ open, under the right stimulus. His outer guard appeared to be the right man for the job.

A beautiful blonde stepped in and over the fallen man. "I told him I'd get it myself," said Sarah.

Volkoff put down his palette and brush. "Mrs. Agent Charles, what a delightful surprise. Please, sit." He looked around for a cloth to get the paint off his hands.

"No thanks," said Sarah. "I don't intend to be breathing the same air as you for very long."

The cloth dropped to the floor. "You can catch more flies with honey, Mrs. Agent Charles," he cautioned, coming around in front of his desk. He nodded to Frost, standing back by the door. "I'm sure my darling Frost gave you some sort of counsel to that effect. You should take it."

"She did. She gave me lots of advice, for dealing with you."

He looked past her to Frost, and then back again. "Of what sort?"

Mrs. Agent Charles shrugged. "Something about carpet-bombing."

He chuckled. "I see your dilemma."

She sighed. "I decided to be polite."

"In that case, Mrs. Charles, I will decide to be…" He leaned back against his desk. Tones of Gregory Tuttle shaded his voice. "Sympathetic. I have a very–" he placed a fist over his heart "–romantic nature. I feel your pain, truly I do." But Tuttle was a mask, while Volkoff was all too real. "And soon, I assure you, you will feel mine."

* * *

Charles Irving Bartowski awoke. The world slid into place around him as if it had always been there, even though he couldn't remember any of it. He lay flat on his back on something that may have been a mattress five thousand years ago, staring up at one, two, no, just one naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. He went to shade his eyes, only to find his hands were fastened down snugly with much more modern leather straps. He raised his head to look down the length of him, so many straps!

Suddenly the light was blocked by a short skinny man in a set of scrubs and a mask, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Mwa-ha-ha," he said, before pushing Chuck's head down and fixing it there with another strap.

Something was wrong with Chuck's senses, the man seemed a bit…blurry, his voice rang with echoes.

"What do you want?" asked Chuck weakly. His voice didn't echo.

The man grasped his chin firmly. "I need to know the secret of your success with women, Agent Charles."

"But…I'm not–" _an agent_ "–successful…"

"Heh, are you sure about that?" said the doctor. He reached down and lifted up a kitten, clutching a ball of yarn in its paws. "This will tell me what I want to know."

"No," said Chuck, struggling against the straps, "Not the cute kitten!"

"Ha!" shouted a female voice, and the sinister doctor went down with a kick to the head.

"Sarah?"

She pressed herself up against the door as it shook. "Agent Charles, you have to get up! I can't hold them off alone!"

"Get me out of this," said Chuck, wiggling his hands.

"You're an agent, free yourself," said Sarah. "And hurry! I need you, Agent Charles."

"But Sarah–!"

"Hurry, Agent Charles!"

"–I can't!"

The door behind Sarah opened the other way, and several arms reached out of the darkness, wrapped themselves around her, and pulled her into the shadows. The door slammed shut.

"Sarah!" Chuck flung himself off the bed and raced to the door, but when he opened it there was only more wall.

"Too little, too late, Chuck," said someone behind him. "Some doors open both ways, gotta watch out for those."

Chuck turned.

On the mattress lay Charles Irving Bartowski, still strapped and cuffed. "You don't mind if I call you Chuck, do you?"

That was his name. "But if I'm Chuck, then who are you?"

"Ask me rather, who I was."

"Who were you, then?"

"In life I was your partner, Charles Carmichael."

Carmichael! An agent! Chuck pounced. "I have to get you out of here," he said, undoing the straps. "I need you! She needs you!"

He lifted up Carmichael's arm, but it snapped off, crumbling to powder in his grasp.

"You don't need me," said Carmichael, his body flattening inside the clothes it wore. "You've never needed me."

A strong wind blew through the room, whipping up the grains of sand, forcing Chuck to shut his eyes. The wind moaned–_toolittletoolatetoolittletoolate–_and the shadows flickered as the bare bulb spun.

"What's happening?" yelled Chuck, and the light went out.

* * *

"What is happening?" asked Aldebert De Smet, as the machines started buzzing with activity. "Is it working?"

"It's working," said the man in the lab coat, Dr. Mueller. "Phase Two has begun. His conscious mind is weakening, and as it crumbles, the other mind he carries within him will be revealed. When it is fully exposed my machines will capture it, harness its power."

The Belgian watched Chuck twitch and moan in his chair. "He does not look powerful," said De Smet. "He looks like what he is, a neurotic little man."

"The Ring in America discovered differently, when they first captured him and extracted his inner self. But they lacked vision. They did not know what they had, and it destroyed them."

De Smet rolled his eyes. "You need not tell me again how brilliant you are."

"No, I don't," agreed Mueller, studying his readouts. "I just need to remind you of how much money you will be able to make for us, once my machines have–" his voice trailed off, distracted by the numbers "–done their work."

"And how long will it take for your machines to do their work?" asked the Belgian. "Even in this jungle we cannot stay hidden forever."

"And whose decision was that?" said Mueller, annoyed. "Do not fear. His mind cannot withstand my drugs and devices for long**."**

* * *

**A/N2 **Dr. Mueller isn't as brilliant as he thinks he is. I wonder how long it will be before he figures that out?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **The best parts of Phase Three were the bar scene and the pit fight. I really didn't want to remake either of those scenes, just maybe reference them somehow, but the story had other ideas.

* * *

"_Are you in Moscow, Mr. Riley?" _

"_Asia."_

"_I feel your pain, truly I do."_

"_What's happening?"_

* * *

Two days ago…

Vivian Volkoff stood outside her father's office door for the very first time.

_Supercalifragilisticexpialadoscious._

It didn't help.

* * *

Today…

The room was too small for pacing. The phone was too small for proper dialing. Ellie hadn't gotten to where she was by letting little things like that stop her. "Devon, they've got Chuck."

"Who's got Chuck, babe?"

His warm baritone ran right over the dry earth of her soul and didn't soak in very much at all. "You know I can't tell you that," said Ellie, yet another annoyance on top of this whole bad situation. "A bad guy with a code name and a very bad reputation, and no one here is going to do anything to save him."

"Whoa, why not?" asked Devon, correctly interpreting that last 'him' to mean Chuck, and not some bad man with a bad reputation.

"Because they let Sarah out of here when I told them not to, and she's gone and done something incredibly stupid and dangerous. They're talking 'international incident'-level dangerous."

"Sounds like Sarah," said Devon. "Just like you, only with the experience and the contacts to make it happen. So what are you going to do?"

She stopped her frantic back-and-forth. "What do you mean, 'what am I going to do'? What do you think I _can_ do?"

"I _think_," said Devon, "That you can call your husband, in search of some measure of solace and comfort. If that doesn't work, I _think_ you'll be after his support and understanding as you go off into some undisclosed war zone to rescue your brother."

"You think so?"

"I know so, I can't love you as much as I do and not know that." She could hear him smile. "Go get him, El."

That barrier fell, and the force of her determination exploded in that direction. "I love you."

* * *

"_I love you."_

Casey stood outside the door, listening to the half of the conversation available to him. Devon was a born doctor, with an endless ability to suck up other people's pain while keeping a smile on his face. Ellie would need that.

She had to talk to somebody, and Ellie had never been much for talking to him. The General had done a great job over the years, but writing off Chuck the way she did pretty much set her relationship with Ellie back to square one there. Or maybe not, Ellie might be more forgiving that he ever would be.

"We've got a hit!"

Stepping very lightly for someone his size, Casey went over to the door to the main room and scowled fiercely at Carina. "Keep it down, will ya? Ellie's falling apart in there."

Carina frowned at him. "Beckman's right, you really aren't fit for duty, are you? Since when did you get so sensitive to lady feelings?"

"Since I met a genuine lady," said Casey, closing the door behind him as he came into the room.

"What do we got?"

Carina put up the coordinates on the screen. An image of globe spun, the spot highlighted. She overlay it with a political map. "Northern Thailand, near the Burmese border."

The satellite showed green. "Trees and more trees," muttered Casey. "A river. That could be our way in." _If we can _go_ in. _He hit the button to contact the General. The screen showed her in conference. Great.

A minute or two later the screen cleared. "What is it, Colonel?"

"We've got a location on Bartowski, General. Northern Thailand."

"I was afraid of that. There's an aide for that region's affairs, a Mr. Chanarong, but I haven't been able to contact him all day."

Carina made a rude noise.

Casey grunted. The main goal of a diplomat was not to solve problems. If they solved problems there'd be no need for diplomats. Instead they spent their time _handling_ problems that just never seemed to go away. And that was assuming he was a good one. If not–"Probably bought and paid for by the Belgian, and half a dozen other warlords in the area. He'd stall our diplomatic efforts until it's too late."

Beckman nodded. She'd been around that block all too often. "Quite likely, Colonel, but without proof, there's nothing we can do. Even if we had it, getting a suitable replacement would take time." Time Chuck didn't have. She glanced to one side, multi-tasking. "I've arranged a return flight for Ellie. Colonel, your job is to make sure she's on it."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that."

Casey ignored her, just like he ignored the buzz of his phone as travel instructions arrived. "Begging the General's pardon, but a solo invasion of Afghanistan would have greater odds of success."

"Understood, but you're a Marine, while she's an untrained civilian. I expect you'll just have to make do." A touch of sadness leaked into her voice. "If things go south, she'll need to be around family."

"Want to borrow my tranq gun, Casey?"

The door behind them slammed open. Ellie stood there, dressed in travelling clothes, a large bag slung over her shoulder. Her gaze swept the room, taking in all the conspirators. "I'm doing this under protest, General."

"As long as you do it, Ellie," said Beckman. "It's for your own good."

"That's what Devon said."

"You should listen to your husband, Ellie. Colonel?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Casey, glad it was under her orders. He opened the door for her. "Let's go, Ellie." With a final glare at the screen, Ellie turned and walked out the door, and Casey closed it behind them.

Carina let out an exaggerated breath.

Beckman shifted her attention. "Agent Miller, while Colonel Casey is otherwise occupied, you'll have to undertake planning for a rescue mission, if there should happen to be one."

Carina paled. Any mistakes, anything that happened to Chuck _at all_, and Sarah would blame her. Again. "Can I take Afghanistan?"

Beckman's image winked out.

* * *

Kissing.

His wife, in his bed, in his arms. "I love you."

She rolled up on top and straddled him, smiling. "I love you, too, Agent Charles."

_Huh?_ "But…I'm not Agent Charles, you are."

Her smile faded. "I've told you not to do that, Agent Charles. Hearing you talk like your cover in our bed is just too creepy."

_His cover?_ "No!" he said, gesturing to his own chest. "This is me, your Chuck."

She scowled down at him. "I didn't marry Chuck, I married Agent Charles." She got off of him, out of the bed, and rolled him over. Her fingers ran up and down his spine, under his hair. "Where is it?" She rolled him back over, stared into his eyes. "What have you done with my husband?"

"I _am_ your husband."

She backed away from the bed, an expression of growing horror on her face. She turned and opened the closet door. Hanging inside was his tuxedo, the hood hanging down. She gripped the hood by the hair and lifted it up. Under the mop of curly hair was his face, blank and empty. She turned the suit around, and saw the zipper running up the length of its spine, the slider buried under the hair.

She turned to glare at him, furious. "You lied to me!" She grabbed the hanger and threw the Agent Charles suit onto the bed next to the nerd she'd married.

"I never lied to you," said Chuck. "I've never been an agent, I've always been Chuck."

The door opened behind her, and his wife drifted backwards through to the other side. "That's too bad, _Chuck._ We could have had such wonderful missions together."

The door closed with a boom, and his wife was gone. Chuck leapt from his bed and opened it. The hall was long and empty and his wife was already far away. With every step he took toward her, the farther away she got.

"Sarah!"

She opened another door at the far end. "Hello, Alexei. My name is Sarah." In spite of the incredible distance between them, Chuck could hear every word.

A man's hand reached out from the darkness and took hers, leading her away, into the darkness with him. "Hello Sarah. Welcome to Volkoff Industries."

The door slammed shut behind her with the sound of doom. The hallway shrank and Chuck pulled at the knob, but there was only more wall on the other side.

"_Too little, too late, Chuck."_

He turned, but the only door in the hall was this one. He grabbed the knob and pulled again, opening the door onto his bedroom. The Agent Charles suit lay on the bed. "What are you?"

The eyes opened. The suit looked at him. "Who, me? I've been hanging in your closet for years. Come on in, Chuck."

The door moved around him and suddenly he was inside. The door slammed shut behind him with the sound of doom, and everything went black.

* * *

In Castle…

Carina sat at the table, as she had since everyone had left. She'd only managed to get one set of redundancy plans for her redundancy plans, and that was just for the six most likely contingencies on her logic tree. Winging it was _so_ much easier. You just grabbed a poisonous snake and threw it.

Oh, God. Poisonous snakes! She pulled out another index card and started writing.

Beckman's image winked in. "Agent Miller."

"Whaaa!" shrieked Carina, papers flying everywhere as she exploded, tension releasing in every direction at once. A tranq dart bounced off the screen.

"Good shooting," said Beckman.

"Thank you, General," said Carina, rubbing her bottom where it had impacted the floor. Whoever thought putting wheels on chairs was a good idea?

"How's the planning coming?"

Loose index cards cascaded on her head. "Poisonous snakes, ma'am." She scooped them all up and stood, dropping them all on the table.

"Using them or avoiding them?"

Carina bent down for another batch. "Either. Both."

"Very thorough." Beckman sniffed. "I take it that Colonel Casey hasn't come back yet?"

One doesn't say 'duh' to Generals. "No, ma'am." She checked a screen, noticed the time. "Wait a minute…"

"Exactly. Go and do a sweep. He could have driven her back here by _this_ time."

Carina hit the boards, checking the internal screens first. "What is that?"

"What is what?" asked Beckman peevishly.

Something moved in one of the cells, and they didn't have any prisoners right now, not even unofficially. Rather than spend time bringing up the cell monitor, Carina swooped the window over to the main screen so Beckman could watch as she left the room and walked down the security corridor. Unfortunately this meant she also couldn't stand right outside the door to cell three and gloat for a few precious minutes. Beckman was watching, so she hit the door control right away, pushing down the block before she stepped inside herself. A few seconds later she came out again, stabilizing Casey as they walked slowly back to the main screen.

"What happened, Colonel?" asked Beckman the second they entered the room. "How did you end up in a cell?"

"I have no idea, General," said Casey. "The last thing I remember is Ellie saying 'I insist'."

Carina dumped him in a chair. "About what?"

Casey set his elbows on the table, braced his head in his hands. "She said she knew where she needed to be, and she could get there by herself, I should stay here and rest. I said I had orders to get her on her way."

Carina snickered. "Let me guess, she was walking behind you? And you trusted her because she's such a lady." She jabbed a thumb against his neck.

He slapped her hand away. "Yeah." He looked up at the screen. "I apologize, General. I have no excuse."

"Don't be silly, Colonel, you have plenty of excuse. You're recuperating from being poisoned. You trusted your doctor, and I agree with you she's every inch a lady, but those two qualities make her more dangerous, not less. Agent Miller, looks like you'd better put on some coffee."

_Oh, no_. Playing nursemaid is for playing, not for nursing. "Let me get him an epi-pen from Medical, General. Chuck and Sarah used one on me the last time I was tranqed. I can't say it's pleasant, but it is effective."

"Good idea, Agent Miller. Do it. We need Casey in as top a form as he can muster."

_Now_ Casey began to get suspicious. "Why is that, General?"

"Ellie's plane is not where it's supposed to be."

* * *

In the Belgian's compound in Thailand…

Dr. Mueller growled, annoyed and exasperated. He turned from his readouts to Chuck himself, and his machines.

"What is happening now?" said De Smet. "Have you finally managed to succeed."

"Something is wrong," said Mueller. "He is reacting as he should right up to the end, but every time he's ready to take that last step something shuts him down. Something is blocking me."

"If I lose my investment you will lose considerably more than that, Doctor, and frankly, you are boring me. Try harder."

"I am stimulating his hippocampus as much as I dare. If he becomes aware that he is dreaming it is all over."

"Then he must not become aware, Doctor."

"Phase Three?" said Mueller. "Lobotomize him? That is very risky. We could lose the baby with the bathwater."

"Can you do it?"

The guards worked for De Smet, not himself. There was only one answer Mueller could give, and survive. "Yes, I can do it."

"Fine," said the Belgian. "Do it."

* * *

Carina came back quickly. "I found the pen, General. I also found this." She held up an envelope.

"Is it sealed?"

Carina handed the pen to Casey, and flipped the envelope over. "Yes."

"Don't open it."

"Wasn't planning to."

"Good." The General gave the matter some thought as Casey jabbed himself in the leg. "Put it in the safe, hopefully we won't need it."

"What is it?"

"It's plausible deniability, Agent Miller."

"Oh, crap," said Casey. "She's on her way to Thailand, isn't she?"

"It would appear so, Colonel. They're maintaining radio silence but they had to refuel, and we're tracking them now. Agent Miller, get your notes together, you'll be needing them. I'm arranging transportation now. She has a head start, but you'll be faster."

Faster and dirtier, just the way she liked it. "We're going after Chuck?"

"Of course not, our hands are still tied on that front," said Beckman. "But we have either an asset on the ground in need of extraction, or a private citizen in possession of top secret materials in a war zone. Either way you two have to get to Ellie as soon as may be."

* * *

Somewhere in Thailand…

The crowd cheered. Money changed hands and liquor flowed. The big man in the big chair watched from on high as minions scurried and profit was made, unaware of the danger he was in.

The blonde bitch in the pit was giving his customers the best show they'd seen in months, and all for nothing. He'd have gladly revealed the Belgian's location just to get rid of him, but the blonde hadn't even tried to bargain. She must really want this man back. Or she just wanted to kill someone.

Or both.

* * *

Sarah hit, and hit again, the cords on her fingers taking the pain for her. Her opponent went down under her fists, and some ancient notion of fair play held her back from finishing him for a crucial second. He came up, tossing a handful of sand in her face.

"Ah!" she yelled, blinded, and he kicked her away. He stood as she fell, and one of the big man's minions tossed him a knife.

Sarah flailed about desperately, expecting to die. She would die and Chuck would die. Somewhere on her left she heard the sound of death approaching, as her enemy slashed the air with his knife. She rolled away from the sound, her hand coming down on something cold and alive. She grabbed the snake and threw it.

Frost watched as Sarah distracted the other fighter, still unable to see. Well if they could cheat, she could cheat. "Sarah," she called, and her son's wife came to the sound of her voice. She turned to the man next to her. "May I borrow this?" she asked, indicating his canteen.

"Why, certainly," he said, handing it over.

"Thank you very much," she replied with a smile. Unscrewing the cap, she splashed water in Sarah's face, clearing her eyes. "Finish him," she said as Sarah blinked. "I'd hate to have to kill all these nice people but we've wasted enough time on this foolishness."

* * *

Doctor Eleanor Faye Bartowski-Woodcombe walked into the first bar she saw. Somewhere during her flight she'd lost the make-up, and ditched her civilian gear. She was everything her mother had ever forced her to be, and she looked it. "I need a boat. Who do I talk to?"

Fortunately this bar wasn't full of mercenaries. Those were upriver, waiting for the next little war to break out. "You can talk to me," said a man at the bar, not bothering to look at her.

No one was foolish enough to get in her way. "I need to get upriver, and I need to get there now."

The boatman glanced up, his lecherous gaze taking in everything Ellie had dressed to hide. "Sit down," he said. "Have a drink."

Ellie wouldn't use that stuff to sterilize a wound. "I'm sorry," she said calmly, "But what part of 'now' did you miss?"

"Now that's just rude," said the boatman. "Upriver, now, and rude, that's gonna cost you." He put his hand on hers. "Let's talk price."

"Yes, let's," said Ellie, sitting down next to him. She brought her face in close to his, their lips almost touching before she slammed the syringe in her other hand against his thigh. "Shhh, shhh," she whispered against his mouth, before he could cry out. She whispered in his ear, "Your heart is racing, you can't catch your breath." She breathed a laugh into his ear. "I recognize the symptoms. The antidote is my price. Do you understand me?"

He nodded, unable to catch his breath.

"Good." She pulled her hand out his grasp. "Your hands are shaking, that's how it begins…"

* * *

**A/N2 **A little darker Ellie than usual, but she's done playing around. The 'Mama Bear' Ellie was never played as much as she should have been. I actually had a line based on the episode in mind ("I only have one way to kill you, but it's a doozy…"), but that was a little _too_ dark, and I really couldn't figure out how to work it in.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **I like dream sequences, although perhaps these aren't exactly dreams. The interaction of the Intersect with Chuck's subconscious was an idea never properly explored. Like so many other great ideas in Chuck, it was used and discarded.

* * *

"_Devon, they've got Chuck." _

"_What have you done with my husband?"_

"_Ellie's plane is not where it's supposed to be." _

"_The antidote is my price. Do you understand me?"_

* * *

Yesterday…

"I'm sorry, Vivian, darling," said Alexei Volkoff, "But a unique business opportunity has just presented itself, which will require my full attention. Can I have a rain check on our lunch date?"

Vivian bit her lip, glad her father couldn't see her. _Not even one full day._ Was even one day of her father's time too much to hope for?

"Of course, Father."

"I will make it up to you, I promise," said Volkoff, "But for now I'll have to deputize Mr. Riley to squire you around town."

Vivian settled down. Her father was a very important, very busy man, but she was his only daughter, his only child. There would be other days.

* * *

Today, somewhere in Thailand…

Sarah looked at her hands, her fingers, striped with red. Hands wrapped in rope, battering rams, rather than the precision instruments she'd made of them. Another time or place, that might have been a problem.

They'd taught her to fight in a lot of different ways, back in her previous life, with hands and feet and whatever was around. He should have expected the snake. She should have expected the sand.

She shouldn't have given him the chance to throw the sand. What the hell was wrong with her? That was no way to get her husband back.

Frost poured peroxide over Sarah's raw fingers. The cords made it possible for the wearer to strike harder, but they delivered their punishments in both directions. "You didn't have to do that."

_They were in the way. _Sarah stared at the blood on her hands. "I told him to drop the knife." So much blood. "He didn't listen, and neither did you. I'm different without Chuck, and I don't like it."

* * *

Somewhere else in Thailand, on a river…

Casey checked his tracker. "According to this she's ten meters ahead of us."

"That puts her in the river," said Carina.

"The miracles of modern technology." He put the tracker away. "Ellie?"

Up ahead on the river's edge, some leaves moved. A small flame, like a lighter, flicked twice. Facing that way they could see it, but no one on the other side of the river would notice such a small light.

They crept down the road, two little shadows against a larger backdrop of shadow, with a touch of midnight thrown in. "What do we got?" whispered Casey.

"It's a boat," said Carina as softly.

With nothing more than a whisper of leaves against leaves the two shadows left the dark. Once under cover they used their low-intensity lights.

"I was wondering when you two would show up," said Ellie, sitting in the captain's chair.

* * *

The sun was shining. The birds were chirping.

Chuck opened his eyes, took a cautious look around. He sat in a chair, surrounded by blinking and beeping equipment of all sorts. No scientists, no lab techs. No guards.

He stepped out of the chair, adjusting the fit of his tuxedo for maximum elegance, and went to the window. It opened onto jungle, as expected. This heat and humidity could mean nothing else.

Now he saw guards, but they were walking away from his position. Perfect. He stepped through the window and quickly strode into the jungle. He was almost in the clear when his phone went off. Ellie's ringtone. "Hey, sis, guess where I am."

"At a guess, I'd have to say jungle. Tropical rainforest, maybe, it's not like we don't have you tracked," said Ellie impatiently. "Agent Charles, I just got off the phone with Sarah, she's very upset."

He stopped in a stand of bamboo. "Doesn't it bother you that I've been kidnapped and could be tortured at any moment?"

Ellie didn't sound all that interested. "Look, Agent Charles, just because you and Sarah are having marital difficulties is no reason to keep getting yourself captured all the time."

"We're…we're not having marital difficulties."

"Oh, no? What do you call this 'Chuck' nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense, it's _me_, sis."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about," said Ellie. "Calling you Chuck is like calling a Lamborghini a car. She married a hero, Agent Charles. You have to be one for her."

"But–"

"Hold on, let me put Sarah on the phone."

* * *

Somewhere on a road in Thailand…

Frost handed Sarah a semi-clean cloth as they drove through the night. "I don't know if it helps, but you managed to save one life at least."

Sarah started rubbing at her wounds._ How could she tell?_ "Whose?"

"Anand Chanarong, the Belgian's paid protector here. Once my men showed him the coordinates you'd gotten, he stopped being so resistant."

_Probably just hoping for a quick finish_. "How did that save his life?"

"Well, it wouldn't have, not by itself, but I convinced Alexei that knowing someone we could buy, who would stay bought, was worth a little forbearance. Chanarong will wake up tomorrow in a hospital, after a terrible car accident he won't remember. It'll only take a few more injuries to make him look the part."

Sarah started digging through the box for anything that looked like it might be a disinfectant. "Beckman will blow right past him, and she'll have the coordinates too."

"All true," said Frost. "But she'll still need diplomatic permission. The Belgian will be expecting Chanaraong to keep him informed, so he'll be waiting for that while we do what we came here to do."

"Save Chuck," said Sarah. "Take him home."

Frost slammed the med-kit shut, narrowly missing Sarah's fingers. "Send him home," she corrected. "You made a deal."

* * *

Elsewhere, on a river…

"You expected us?" said Carina. "You even had Beckman scrambling."

"Good," said Ellie. "Then no one will doubt that this all caught her by surprise."

Casey grunted a denial. "Except for the orders, putting the plane and pilot under your command."

"Blame Dad for those, you will anyway," said Ellie. "And this time you'll even be right."

That got her a chuckle from Carina. "Did he arrange the boat, too? Looks a bit low-tech for him."

Ellie shook her head. "I made a friend in a bar. He got me upriver, and I poled with the current after that until we were secure here."

Casey checked all points. "Where is this…_friend_ now?"

"You're standing on him," said Ellie, casually.

They looked down, spotting the outline of the hatch easily, even in the dark. "Not much of a smuggler's hold," said Carina.

Casey opened it, played the light over the man inside. "Not much of a smuggler." He noted the mask on the man's face. "You gave him the toxin?"

"A low-dose injection," said Ellie, nodding. "Enough that he wouldn't give me too much of an argument. I promised him the antidote when we got here."

"I'm surprised he didn't kill you," said Carina, noticing the extensive scarring all over his body. "Or worse."

"I may have forgotten to mention the chloroform."

Casey gave an appreciative chuckle, and lowered the hatch. "You seem to have the situation under control," he said with some degree of pride. "So what now? We're tasked with bringing you out safely."

Ellie looked him in the eye. "I'm not leaving without him."

Casey grunted his assent.

"And neither are we," said Carina. "I've even got a plan for this."

A lot of water, a bunch of guys, and Carina. _Gee, let me think…_"I know just what to call it," said Casey. "Operation Wet T-Shirt."

Carina whacked him on the arm. "Wear my new T-shirt into that water? Are you nuts?"

Ellie tried to forget the visual that inspired. "I guess we're all lucky, then, that you got here just a few minutes too late," said Ellie, reaching down. "I'm already on a log, paddling myself across the river." She even had the oars, right there in her hand.

"Where?" said Casey.

Ellie pointed at the scummy water. "Right there, don't you see me? Perhaps if you got out these oars and paddled silently across the river yourselves, you could cut me off before I blunder into that camp of armed guards and get myself in trouble."

"You're very impatient," said Casey, shaking his head.

"I know," said Ellie sadly.

"Come on, partner," said Carina, taking an oar. _No skinny-dipping tonight._ "Let's go save her from herself."

* * *

Meanwhile, in Chuck's mind…

"Agent Charles," said Sarah, and Chuck turned around. "You have nothing to be modest about," she said, stepping through the undergrowth in her wedding dress. She practically glowed in the sunlight. "You _are_ that guy, Agent Charles, even Ellie has to say so. The one who has to apologize is me. I want to keep you safe, when putting your safety over that of others is exactly the opposite of who you are. So thank you, for not being what I want you to be."

His angel. So bright, so beautiful. He could barely stand to look at her. "But I don't want to be Charles Carmichael."

"Soon you will be no one else, Chuck," said a heavily-accented voice behind him. Chuck turned, to see a tall, ugly man in a lab coat standing behind him. "If you will not listen to her then listen to me."

Chuck looked quickly, but Sarah was gone.

"My name is Dr. Mueller, Chuck," said the tall man. "I am a fairly standard evil scientist, just like all the others who have plagued your life these last few years trying to steal the Intersect. I and my colleagues have foolishly discussed our plans right in front of you, thinking you unconscious, so now you are becoming aware of what we plan to do. I almost feel sorry for you, Chuck. If you don't become Charles Carmichael you will die. If you do become Charles Carmichael we will win."

* * *

Meanwhile, outside of Chuck's mind…

Suddenly the man in the chair moved his head. Mueller immediately checked his measurements.

"No…don't want to be…" mumbled Chuck.

"Anything?" asked De Smet.

"No," said Mueller, disappointed. "I am at my absolute limit, but still he somehow finds a way to resist me." He wheeled his chair over to a bank of switches covered with red caps, and lifted the caps. "Initiating phase three now."

Strangely, the beginning of the process that would end his life seemed to calm their victim. De Smet watched Chuck curiously. While he'd killed every victim he'd ever had, he'd done so quickly, painlessly. He'd never had a chance to watch a life go so slowly before. He would repay Mueller with a quick death, for this unique opportunity. "What do you think it feels like, to watch your life disappear?"

"It would feel like nothing," said Mueller. "As his mind goes, he loses his ability to comprehend that his mind is going." He pointed at the screens, the spreading regions of color. "You see there–?"

The Belgian sighed. Somebody should be aware that their life was ebbing, and maybe that someone should be Mueller after all.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Chuck's mind…

_Earthquake!_ The jungle floor rocked, and Chuck fell to his knees on the hard tile. Pain shot up his leg This was a really painful dream.

"It's not a dream, Chuck," said a voice to his left. He looked up. Jeff's oversized face loomed over him from one of the large monitors, the kind with the really big commission. "Me being on TV, that's a dream, but for you it's all real."

The Buy More shook, and something crashed behind Chuck. "My cord has improved your voice."

No way that was Sean Connery. He turned around, and no, it wasn't Sean Connery. It was him, lying on the ground, making snarky comments to…him.

"Hey, Chuck, can I get out of here?" asked Jeff.

Chuck-on-the-floor swept Chuck-standing-up's legs, and ran off while the other Chuck was down. _Huh?_

"Let me out!" shout Jeff in panic.

Chuck turned back to the screen. Casey's face glared at him. "What's the matter, Bartowski? Don't you love your country?"

The store shook, something crashed behind him, and Chuck clutched his head in pain.

"You played a good game, Chuck," said Daniel Shaw's voice. Chuck looked up, and saw Shaw, his DIC looped around his neck, staring solemnly down at him. "But now it's time to come in from the cold. You have to save your wife, Chuck."

"Fore!"

Chuck turned, watching as he fought himself. _I have to save Sarah._

"Chuck," said Orion's gentle voice.

Chuck looked up to his father. "Dad?"

"Don't let my mistakes be yours too, son. You have great power." The destruction of the Buy More behind Chuck underscored those words. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Lights went out, the screens went blank.

"Dad!"

The only light came from behind him, and Chuck turned again. "My name is not Charles Carmichael," said Chuck–in-the-bathrobe.

Chuck watched as he advanced on himself, and whispered, "My name is not Charles Carmichael." His hands itched, and he looked down. Light bloomed there. _Great power._

"I am not a CIA Agent," said Chuck–in-the-bathrobe, his light dimming. The other Chuck fell to the floor, his light extinguished.

_Great responsibility._ "I am a CIA agent," said Chuck.

"Initiate upload!" said Bathrobe-Chuck.

_No!_ shouted the newly-minted CIA agent in his own head, but he was too late. The monitors were already flickering, Carmichael was already moving. Chuck ran to catch himself.

The monitor on the Nerd Herd desk lit up, with Carina's face. "Fine, be that way. You want the code, I'll give you the damn code. Orange, orange, green, red, orange, red."

The screens flashed, a giant white hole that swallowed up his former self, and Chuck leapt into it after him.

* * *

Someone had been courteous enough to clear a space in the jungle large enough for a helicopter to land. Frost abandoned the truck on the edge of it, pulled out her phone and pressed her thumb on an app. "We have eight minutes."

Sarah was already running.

* * *

Falling. Agent Chuck was falling. Something smacked him in the face, held there by wind. He clawed it away. A pocket protector, with the name Carmichael on it. He looked down. Carmichael was falling, trailing little specks and pieces of himself like ash. "Carmichael!"

Chuck's alter-ego looked up. He held out his hands as they dissolved. "You're too late, Bartowski."

_It can't be too late! _"I need you!"

Carmichael shook his head. "You've never needed me. You just need this!" He spread-eagled his body in the air.

_I need you now._ Releasing the nerdish accessory, Agent Chuck shifted his position, aligned himself with the air streaming past him, and went into a power dive. He arrowed straight into where Carmichael's heart should have been, but there was nothing there. The impact pulverized Carmichael's body, leaving Agent Chuck blinded and tangled in his doppelganger's clothing. He spun in the wind, dragging at the cloth that seemed determined to strangle him before he could crash.

Suddenly the air that had conspired to kill him became his friend, and the cloth that pressed against his face popped out, catching the wind. The remains of Carmichael like hard rain pelted the impromptu parachute, and Agent Chuck looked up, then down as the pocket protector fell past his nose.

Beneath him, the ground bloomed yellow. He aimed for it, as best he could. As good a place as any to be smashed flat.

* * *

Elsewhere, on the other side of the river…

Armed men loitered by the fire, drawn together instinctively for comfort and peace of mind, although any one of them would shoot the first person who suggested it. Even out in the dark they'd been hearing the rumors, terrified whispers of a hugely dangerous, unstoppable force bearing down on them from the west, leaving nothing alive in its wake. A frightened few patrolled the woods, but those were far more silent in their wood craft than the person who came stumbling over tree roots into their encampment. She moved and she was female, that drew all eyes to her like a magnet.

Ellie pulled a much-folded map from her pocket, and pointed to the Quonset hut behind some trees. "Uh, Doctors Without Borders?"

* * *

Out in the jungle…

Argo was a very experienced man, careful, thorough. He never missed a check-in. Until tonight.

Tomas was detailed to check up on Argo. He never reported back either. The man who heard his choking, strangled gurgle ran the other way.

It didn't help.

The Blonde was everywhere.

* * *

Agent Chuck sat up in a field of yellow flowers, not smashed flat. He put his hand down on the pocket protector, and he absently tucked it into the pocket of his Nerd Herd uniform as he looked around. Flowers everywhere. He sniffed at one–_Old Man kata_–and sneezed at the vile smell. The petals blew off the flower, but somehow curled back against the force of his sneeze to settle on his arm. And stuck.

He tapped at a petal, but it hardened, and trying to peel it back was like trying to peel back his own fingernails.

Another flower moved towards his face, with another rank fragrance–_Naihanchi One–_and he sneezed again. When the petals came back to him he tried to waft them away, but they clung to his hand in neat little rows, and hardened. Like scales.

Like armor.

"I don't need you," he muttered to himself. "I need this."

One after another he grabbed the flowers and sniffed at them–_Mandarin Chinese, bricklaying, cake decorating, surgery–_throwing the blossoms in the air to let the petals fall where they would. Two at a time, clumps, handfuls. He gathered up an armful of yellow, inhaled the foul odor and threw the blossoms in the air, standing in a yellow rain.

Finally there were only three petals remaining, but his body– his whole body, he checked–was layered, and they had nowhere to go. Still they twisted in the air expectantly. "What?"

A petal slipped into his mouth, settled on his tongue. The other two moved towards his eyes as if blown, and he jerked his head back, closing his eyes instinctively. For a second he was blinded, but then he could see again. He looked down at himself, but all the petals had gone.

He was just…Chuck.

* * *

"You can come on out, Ellie.'

Ellie got up from her position, crouching behind a tree with her hands over her ears. She'd been expecting the screams, but only after Casey made noise with his guns, and she hadn't heard any noise. She tripped a second time over the same damned tree-root, but this time no one pointed a gun at her. Only one guy from the other team was still there, and he was unconscious. "The Giant Blonde what?" she asked Carina.

"Don't ask me," said the agent, wringing water from her clearly non-blonde hair. "You think I should have lost the pants too?"

"Oh, God," groaned Casey, his eyes carefully fixed away from the river. "Just give her her shirt already."

* * *

With the screaming guards as a distraction out front, Sarah and Frost broke in through the back. The Belgian made a bad investment, taking Sarah's husband. That miscalculation earned him a knife to the throat and cost him everything else.

Frost was a bit more talkative. "Hello, Mueller. I told you not to pursue the Carmichael option."

Sarah ignored them both to run to Chuck's side.

"There's nothing you can do," said Mueller. "He's almost completely gone."

"Now why don't I believe you?" said Frost, before clubbing him down.

"Chuck! Chuck, listen to me, I'm here. I'm here, Chuck." Sarah was busily removing the leads from Mueller's machine, tears in her eyes.

* * *

The ground split open and Agent Chuck fell again, to find himself in his Fortress of Solitude. The monitors were blank, everything was dark. No, not everything. One alert still flashed, one sensor that always worked when nothing else was right.

Sarah was nearby.

He had to open his monitors. Barehanded, he ripped off the panels. He stripped wires with his teeth and recoded the system through three different busses, using protocols that were never meant to communicate with each other.

* * *

Chuck opened his eyes.

* * *

Sarah pulled his face around to look at her, said something she knew he'd want to hear more than anything else. "Chuck, please stay with me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Without you, I'm nobody. I'm nothing but a spy. Come back to me, Chuck. I need to be your wife."

Agent Chuck's hands glowed. Great power. He reached into his panel and pushed that power into the system, trying to do something.

* * *

"Sarah."

"Chuck!" she cried, pressing her lips to his.

* * *

The system overloaded. The Fortress went dark.

* * *

"Chuck?" said Sarah, as he sagged in her arms.

Frost kept her distance, unwilling, or unable, to offer comfort. She looked out the window instead. Touching as this reunion was, they had to get moving. The chopper wouldn't wait for them, and getting Chuck to it looked like a more difficult job than she–_What are _they_ doing here?_

"We have to go," said Frost. "Now!"

"But Chuck–?" Sarah started fumbling with the straps.

"Leave him. Friendly forces are on their way. We can't be seen here."

"But Chuck–!"

Frost aimed her sidearm. "You made a deal," she said. "You will move now or I will kill you right here."

Sarah jumped on Chuck, gave him a quick kiss that he'd never feel, and ran out of the room, Frost hard on her heels.

* * *

Casey stood over the crumpled body of some guy in a lab coat. Carina was checking the dead guy by the window, while Ellie gave her brother the once-over.

"What the hell happened here?"

"Casey!" shouted the two women simultaneously. Carina held up a knife, Ellie held up a ring. "Sarah!"

* * *

Tonight…

To Sarah, the doors seemed to open in slow motion. Frost had three guards on her this time. Now that she had her husband home safe, Sarah was no longer to be trusted.

Volkoff stood up, his multinational criminal empire left to run itself for the moment. "Agent Walker," he said with some surprise. "Love the hair."

Sarah loved it too. It wasn't her usual blonde. It was as far from blonde as it could get, short of shaving her head entirely. Sarah Bartowski was blonde. Sarah Bartowski was married. Until she got back home to Chuck, Sarah Bartowski couldn't be allowed to exist. Alexei Volkoff could not be allowed to touch that.

Volkoff gestured to one side. "I believe you've met my daughter?"

Vivian Volkoff nodded, her eyes flint-hard. "Miss Walker. Welcome to Volkoff Industries."

* * *

**A/N2 **I find myself wondering if there would be any merit in rereleasing all the chapters of nine2five as a single story. It would certainly be easier to find them all. I'm also thinking of combining Chuck vs the Epilog and the later parts of Not This Time into a single story. Not This Time assumes that the reader has already read the Epilog, which may not be the case, as some commenters discovered the hard way.


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